I'm really into heads right now

"I hope I'm an individual. I suppose an eccentric is a super individual." Margaret Rutherford

We were finally on the road again, heading to Dakar after car troubles! We arrived in the traffic ridden capital after a quiet drive on good Senegalese highways. We thought we would save some money by not taking the toll road to the center of the city. This, as it turned out, was a mistake.

Traffic ground to a halt. In an hour we had barely moved. We decided to cut through a large chunk of densely packed homes. We turned off the road, crossed the train tracks. I saw a man selling dried monkey heads and goat hooves. The roads narrowed, people stared, but they also smiled. The road we were following ended in a mass of construction, as did the next one, and the next. Our navigation, maps.me, worked amazingly well however, and eventually we found an on ramp to the toll road.

Roof sheep

Senegalese roof sheep on the toll road

There was hardly anyone on this massive six lane road. The tolls were very cheap, 1000-1400 CFA ($1-$3), but after having seen living conditions in a large piece of the city, I understood why nobody would take it, this was a great privilege. We raced downtown, our goal being Independence Square.

We had come to renew our Passavant, the document you get to allow your car into Senegal. At the border, if your car is less than 8 years old, or  you have a Carnet de Passage, you pay 5000CFA for a 72 hour passavant to get your car in. In reality, the Carnet is supposed to be in place of the passavant, but customs insisted we needed both. A car older than 8 years, without a carnet, pays $250 to be allowed in. You can renew the passavant for free, for 15 days, twice. If you have a carnet, you get a 6 month renewal. An odd, confusing system, which we slowly unraveled upon our arrival.

Lunch in the narrow restaurant while looking for the customs office

Downtown Dakar

The Grand Mosque in Dakar

We arrived at a customs office in Independence Square. We went upstairs, and joined a line. After 30 minutes, we were called into an office, only to be told we were in the wrong office. This downtown office was for car owners with ONLY a passavant. Those with a Carnet had to go to the port, pier #2. We walked to the pier and found the office building. The man working the front door had no idea what we wanted, but a helpful man inside pointed us to the second floor. We found a door down an empty hallway, and were ushered inside. Our passavant was stamped, then we were taken to two other rooms where it was stamped again. In the third room, our carnet was finally filled out for the first time! A nice man named George Jon, explained that our car could now stay for six months, but we could only stay for 3 months on our tourist entry stamp. He was also very happy about my name, Jonathan George, and gave me his business card.

We drove to a campsite in the Hans Marinas area of the city, on the coast. This was the yacht club of Dakar, and they let us set up our tents for $6 a day per car. Not a bad deal. There was a shower, toilets, and a restaurant with cheep beer. A good base while waiting on visas.

The Yacht Club of Dakar

In the morning, we taxied to the Ivory Coast embassy. We filled out the forms, provided yellow fever vaccination copies, pictures, and wrote a letter in French, explaining our trip. After an hour waiting, we were called up to meet the ambassador. A large man on a couch was sitting, looking at a framed map of Liberia. He was trying to see where we would cross into his country, as per our letter. He was very friendly and just wanted to hear about our trip. Soon he said he would give us the visa, and we should return at 2pm the following day. Great!

That evening we went to a bar. The building was shaped like a lion. We asked if we could go upstairs to see what was in the head and open mouth. A man in the attached hotel made a call and said, "He will see you, please go up.". We walked up the stairs, and saw many metal sculptures, bugs, helicopters, cows, and 7-8 heads of political leaders of Senegal. In the mouth of the lion was a lounge with a bar, and a well dressed man sitting in a chair. He greeted us and said, "I'm really into heads right now", explaining that he was an artist, as well as the designer, and owner, of the lion building. We talked about art, politics, and life for quite a while, then said our goodbyes and left.

The following day we picked up the Ivory Coast visa and tried to get the Sierra Leone visa as well, but the embassy had run out of visa stickers, so we returned to the campsite to relax.

Our last day in Dakar we took a ferry out to Gorree island, a former colonial trading post and shipping point for slaves to North and South America. The island was beautiful, with colorful, preserved buildings, but the tragic history was always on my mind. Climbing to an old fort on the hill, we found a huge old military anti-aircraft cannon, and a man who lived inside! We had lunch, then made our way back to the cars, leaving for the South, crossing through Gambia.

Goree Island

Goree Island

Goree Island

Fish for lunch on Goree Island

Borders and Breakdowns in Senegal

"A car is only trouble at a certain point." Ryan Gosling

On the way to Dakar

We passed warthogs, trees and water on the way to the border with Senegal. Leaving Mauritania was quite simple, but Senegal police wanted $10 each to stamp our passports. We waited them out and soon had our documents in order. The customs officer did not like me questioning him, which is fair, I don't like it either, but it is difficult to know what is a real charge, and what is made up on these borders. Eventually we got our car through, but our new traveling buddy, Fonzy, was not so lucky. As his car was older than 8 years, and he was not traveling with a carnet de passage, he needed to pay $250 to bring it in. He chose to leave the car at the border, and ride with us to Dakar, then meet a friend and head back to the car to drive it back to Holland.

First trees in about a month!

A short drive to Saint Louis on amazingly good roads. Green trees lined the sides. Sub saharan Africa seemed to start instantly. Saint Louis is built in three places, the mainland, an island, and a further out piece of the mainland that curves around to the sea. We drove across a long metal bridge to the island. Tall, crumbling colonial buildings painted yellow, orange and white greeted us. The pirogues, long brightly colored boats, lined the muddy waters. Hundreds of people walked the evening streets.

Pirogues in Saint Louis

Saint Louis

We found a cheap place to stay, then set our for our first beers in weeks. We drank to crossing the Sahara, to no more wind and sand, and reaching where many overlanders from Europe finish their trip and head home. We were just begining.

Our home in Saint Louis

The following day we made it 35km, and the alternator in our car seized up. A loud screeching sound, and the car turning off, brought us to a halt. We were in a village named Mpale. We found a mechanic. TJ and Chris took out the alternator, and the mechanic took it in a taxi to Saint Louis to pull the bearing.

Broken black Panda

Cows in Mpale

Sheep in Mpale

We ate Mafe, rice with peanut sauce while we waited. We found a Senegalese drum circle with women jumping and dancing enthusiastically and wearing very nice clothes. We could not figure out what it was for, maybe a pre-wedding party? We were welcomed in to watch and enjoy. Afterwards, we lai

d down on a mat with a family to rest. The mechanic returned with the alternator. We put it in and it started right up. We camped outside the town in a field, then made for Dakar in the morning.

Finally crossing the desert into Senegal

After riding the iron ore train back to Noudhibbou, we stayed one more night at Chez Ali's hotel. It was to be in a comfy bed and have a shower. In the morning, we headed south towards Senegal.

The Pandas at Chez Ali in Noudhibbou

We drove from desert to flat empty desert. Mauritania is vast. Small communities with huge rubber water bladders, and cloth tents dotted the landscape. We helped put out a car fire on the way, but the car was mostly ruined. That evening we slept near a goat and camel herder. A man on a camel rode by in the morning, waving hello, and riding out into the sand.

Empty deserts

Mauritania roads

Driving further south, we passed Nouakchatt. A strange city, seemingly forced into existance, ramshackle and chaotic. We passed through, the road becoming terribly potholed. We tried driving on a dirt road to the sea, but ran into a large salt water swamp area. We spent one more night in the desert, the wind blowing constantly. Our last night in the Sahara.

The next morning was up early, making for the Senegalese border. The landscape became more sandy, orange dunes with trees on them...trees! Camels and goats ran among the small villages. We turned off on a small track towards the Diama border crossing. The road passed a national park. Wart Hogs ran in front of our car, and a large marshland formed. We paralled the Senegal River, grass and trees everywhere!  Yes, even though there was no official entry, you have to pay the entrance into the national park. Seemed fishy to me, but I did enjoy seeing the bird life! The border appeared after a 60km dirt road, which was not bad, but very bumpy. We pulled up, and prepared to exit Mauritania. We had finally crossed the Sahara!

The final few camels of the Sahara

Just north of the Senegal border

Small towns in southern Mauritania

The road to the Senegal border

Warthogs

Finally crossed the Sahara!

An oasis saved my life/You eat like a woman!

"Too much good fortune can make you smug and unaware. Happiness should be like an oasis, the greener for the desert that surrounds it." Rachel Field

Choum, Mauritania. A small town in Mauritania, a long way from anywhere. As far as we could tell, Choum only existed because of the railroad. A common scenerio to towns near my home. We had arrived in an empty iron ore car at 5:30am. We piled into a minibus, heading for the oasis region of Atar.

The van circled the town, looking for more passengers. Stone buildings barely showing through the dust. The sun had risen I was sure, but was not visible, just a slight lightening of the surrounding area. Finally we were on the road to Atar. We passed flat, rocky regions, went over a large pass, the road well paved. Mostly we all just tried to sleep.

Atar is a small town with what seems more donkeys than people. A lively market sits in the center of town, selling freshly baked bread out of wheelbarrows, and meat from small wooden counters. To my surprise, there was lots of fish for sale, trucked in from the capital, 6 hours a away. The buildings were sand colored, made from concrete covered in an adobe type mixture. It felt isolated, but at the same time, well connected with the rest of the country.

We sat on a corner in a daze, watching the town come to life. Men dressed in flowing blue robes, heads wrapped with scarves, passed by, hardly glancing at us. Women in brightly colored clothes, some with faces veiled, others with complex hair styles on display, wandered everywhere. Old taxis plied the streets, some looking like they may fall apart at any moment. We organized a taxi to Terjit Oasis and set out. Five of us crammed into a car. We were stopped multiple times at police and military checkpoints. This is a common occurance in Mauritania, but they were almost always polite and just wanted to collect our passport information.

Atar streets in the morning

Market donkey in Atar market

Huge red cliffs narrowed into a canyon, sand and date palms filling the bottom. A small village living off the two springs. We walked into the palms, hot, tired, dirty. We walked, and walked, and even though it got cooler, we could not seem to find the water. Had the spring dried up? Was it not flowing this time of year? I just want a swim!

Finally, at the apex of the canyon, a small pool appeared. Two springs, one hot, and one cold, flow into a small depression, and a natural bathing area forms. Yes! We joined the locals, racing into the water. "This oasis saved my life!" I exclaimed. Having just been a little tired and dehydrated, I could already see how important a place like this could be in such a harsh environment. Mark it on a map, never forget how to find it, it could be the difference between life and death for the old caravan travelers.

We stayed in the water for half an hour, cleaning ourselves, coming back to life. It was amazing. The cliffs looked ancient. People have been living in this area for tens of thousands of years, as evident by the petrogliphs on the cliffs. It felt old, it felt forgotten. I felt far away.

Terjit Oasis

Terjit

The Terjit pool

We were told of a place to stay, the Auberge de Chez Jamal. Some small boys led us down a sandy road. Cloth tents next to a few small buildings. A large tree with a round, woven palm frond roof, with woven mats and cushions set out underneath. It was quiet, calm, and cool. A paradise. We layed down, the owners brought us dates off the trees, so soft they melted in your mouth. We slept and read the rest of the day. Dinner was rice and vegetables in sauce, it was delicious. I slept soundly, a cool breeze, a soft mattress on the ground, open walls, Quiet.

Thank you to this family, and to this place.

Our home in Terjit

Relaxing in the oasis

Terjit camp

We stayed in Atar the following night. We were able to hitch a ride back into town in the back of a passing truck with a Western Saharan UN worker. We stayed at the Bab Sahara guesthouse. It had seen better days, but the flow of tourists had dried up. It was a quirky overlander place: "Why are there so many animal skulls.....and WWI helmets here?". They pulled out mattresses in the dirt for us, and we fell asleep under the stars.

We took the bus back to Choum, ate fish and rice in a small restaurant, and waited for the train to arrive. We wanted to ride the passenger train back. The train came early. "The train is here! Run!". We ran the 2km to the car...except I had been sick feeling all day. I could not make it. The train only stops for 10 minutes. A friendly man in an ore car was yelling at me to climb up. So I did. The rest of our group just barely making the passenger car.

The ore car was now full with large chunks of iron ore. It was sharp, and hard to walk on, but being able to sit up above the edge of the car was a nice change. My train companion was Hameda. He rode the train often, buying old clothes at the mine and selling them in Nouadhibbou. He was a master train traveler. He had a blanket tent set up on the large ore rocks. He made tea over charcoal. He taught me how to eat with my hands, serving me pasta with camel meat he had made. "You eat like a woman! Take a big handful, use the whole hand!". The dust was not bad and the views were amazing. Watching Ben Amira slide by, the second largest free standing rock in the world, he told me the traditional story of how it got there. We watched the sunset, did the dishes, and I slept on piles of his used clothes. It was one of the most beautiful nights of my life.

Hameda, my train riding companion

Ben Amira Rock

Train sunset

In the morning, I helped to toss of the bags of clothes and said goodbye. We all met up at the train station, and stayed one more in Noudhibbou before heading south the next morning.

This train is 100% secure

"As you move outside of your comfort zone, what was once the unknown and frightening becomes your new normal." Robin Sharma

The no mans land between Morocco and Mauritania is odd. A kilometer stretch of dirt and rock, with no real discernable road between the two borders. Old burnt out and striped car frames are everywhere. Broken televisions and washing machines litter the desert. A United Nations truck sits on the hill, the driver just watching the cars go every which way in the space between countries. Don't go far off the main drag though, it is heavily mined, a reminder of the ongoing conflict and partition of a people being quietly displaced from their homes and families divided along newly created lines.

"You are 100% secure here", says the chief of the border outpost. "You can go anywhere you want in our country, there will be no problems, welcome to Mauritania". That is quite the promise.

In Nouadhibbou, we rested, and prepared to ride the iron ore train. The train, 2-3km long, is a metal beast, running empty from the coast, to the hot dry interior iron ore mine at Zouerat, some 15-20 hours away. There is one passenger car, but many locals simply climb into the empty carriages and ride for free. This sounded awesome, and it was, just not in the way we expected.

We bought a blanket, some head scarfs to keep the dust out, some food, and cardboard to shield us from the vibrations of the empty carriages. Five of us crammed into a tiny taxi to the train station. We waited inside the small concrete building along with the ticketed passengers, but soon went out to wait along the tracks. The outside of the train station proclamed the train, "The Way of Iron". You could see black plumes of smoke before you could hear the train. The two engines roared by, metal smashing against metal, car after car passing. The ticketed passengers made a mad dash to get the good seats. We found an empty ore car and climbed up.

The cars were wide and surprisingly clear of ore dust. We set out our cardboard beds and waited. You could here the chain reaction of train cars pulling against each other as the engines started moving. The cars crashed forward, a tremendously loud bang followed, a sound we would be all too familiar with by the end of the ride. We rolled out of town, slowly gaining speed From time to time a loud crashing sound would rip through the train, and the cars would lurch violently. We watched the desert roll by, enjoying the novelty of it all.

Sand and dust blew constantly in our faces, you breathed it in, even with the head wraps. Small abandoned villages would appear occasionally, every so often you would see one person still there. What are they doing so far from anything? There is more there than I can see with my western conditioned eyes I realize. The natural beauty and solitude alone was incredible, but it seemed a harsh life. As the sun set, the first sandstorm hit.

Our home for the night

View from the train

Sunset before the storm

The sun disappeared. The air turned hot, very hot. As we left the coolness of the coast, the sun baked interior radiated heat into the night. Dry hot air blew the sand every where. Chris asked jokingly, "Is this the train to hell?". Could be, but I think we are just going to Choum. I fell asleep, an old suit jacket I had bought over my face.

I awoke in the dark, the sky clear, the moon shining brightly, a small respite from the storm. I awoke again, we were stopped. It was 11:30pm. Hot air still swirled. How can it still be getting hotter, and.....is that children laughing I hear? We were 2km outside of a village, waiting for a full train to pass on the tracks in the other direction. Local kids walked out with drinks to sell, very enterprising, but they were cheaper than normally in the stores. Maybe that is why they sell them at night, away from the village? The full train passed, our train lurched back to life, I fell asleep again. I awoke covered in dust, the wind blowing violently, the second sandstorm hit. I curled up and tried to sleep.


5:30am. I'm awake. The air thick with dust. Its hard to even see across the train car. We were stopped. I looked over the edge, and a minibus was waiting in the blowing dust, the driver yelling. We were in Choum. I tried to dust off my blanket...no use. I threw everything into a bag, all I can smell is dust, my head hurts. I climbed down the ladder and into the bus, unsure of anything other than I needed to get off the train, we had arrived.